


You Gotta Get Up and Try

by crashlanding_cas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, and Gabe tries to be what he's not, super angsty Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:38:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2162646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crashlanding_cas/pseuds/crashlanding_cas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean failed in saving the one thing he cared about most. Sometimes we find our missing pieces in someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Gotta Get Up and Try

It was a thought that blazed orange on the back of Dean's eyelids when he closed them under the numbing pound of the shower. It crept up on him and would tap him on the shoulder when he was drinking away the pain. He would turn, and of course, nothing would be there. But he knew it was there and the fact that it stayed hidden made it even worse. The thought that when he actually had to, he couldn't save the one thing that mattered most.

 

Dean had always chosen to be a loner, but that choice flew away like the sparks from his brother's funeral pyre. Not just ashes were blown away that night, but it felt like to Dean that everyone he had ever known and cared about were taken away with the wind. Who cared if they were human or not; angels, demons, vampires, they were souls that had huddled in so close to his heart that a part of him drifted away with them. Beings as tall and shiny as the Chrysler Building, with unfathomable power, and others that used to be human and wanted to feel that way again. Ones who resented what and who they were, trying to convert to some sense of normalcy. They all gathered around the same fire and shared the same stories so that in the end, they were all on the same team, fighting the same fight. They were all just trying to _exist_ in this crazy, unfair little cluster of stars.

 

Castiel had stopped bothering to show up and had either chosen to ignore Dean's pitiful pleas, or couldn't hear him in whatever fourth dimension he had barricaded himself in. Wherever he was, Dean just hoped he would fucking get it together and let him know he was still alive.

 

_He's my brother too, you know. You don't see me running away. Please, just--I need you, Cas, I can't do this alone._

 

Dean was doing everything except staring out the window at the rain with tears rolling down his face. He would find the best places to sit and think the worst kind of thoughts for the longest amounts of time. He couldn't even blame and plot his revenge against anyone or anything. It had simply been stress and fatigue and God knows what else that had manifested in his little brother. The most painful recurring thought that Dean had was _what if I hadn't dragged him away that night? Would he have been able to save Jess? It would have happened eventually,_ he told himself, often out loud. Which was true in all facets. There was just one iota of him that _needed_ to make him believe it was somehow his fault. It was a wonder he didn't put a gun to his temple and pull the fucking trigger. But he knew that a lonely, cold bunker was beyond significantly better than where he would be headed. He didn't need to kill himself because he was already becoming someone he didn't want to know. That's just as bad as dying.

 

Then came the nightmares. There Sam would be, all nice and dead, but with some twisted demon wearing him. He would leer at Dean, laughing at how he had forgotten to burn Sam's body. But how? How could he have forgotten? No, no, no--

 

He would wake up screaming, crying, and would maybe even throw his pillow at the wall like the concrete was the source of his troubles. Once, he thought he saw Sammy watching him from the corner, a tall shadow. But when he realized his stupidity, he wanted to start crying all over again.

 

In other dreams, Sam's gaunt, pale face would ask Dean, _W_ _hy? How could you let this happen? You were supposed to protect me from everything, Dean. You failed, Dean. You might as well be dead like me._ Maybe it wasn't Dean's voice that was telling him he had failed. Maybe it was his brother's ghostly timbre that tattooed it into his mind.

 

When he held his vinyls in his hands, they felt brittle and thin and breakable if he were to speak too loud. Which was completely unlikely because didn't speak at all besides his somber prayers to Cas late at night when alcohol slurred his words. No wonder Cas didn't want to talk to him. He was a mess if there ever was one. Besides, who knew if the angel was in a better state than he was? They could just end up like two of the same sides of magnets facing each other, always pushing away. He needed a neutral force.

 

This neutral force came in the form of Gabriel. He quite brazenly decided to mojo himself into the kitchen one morning, but Dean seemed to have forgotten enough English to keep himself from making much of a protest. He just appeared vaguely disturbed, because, after all, angels had been appearing in front of him at the most inopportune times for as long as he could remember.

 

"What do you want?" Dean asked, too tired to sound too pissed off.

 

The archangel shuffled around a bit before answering.

 

"Thought you were a little lonely, kiddo." Dean searched his face for signs of a lie. Any cockiness had dropped from his voice. All he saw was pity.

 

"I don't need your charity, and you're lucky I haven't kicked you out already, what with all the shit you've put us through. You--"

 

Dean stopped when he recognized the current expression hung on the angel's face. It was the same one he was wearing when they had last left him, standing under the spray of sprinklers in that warehouse. Hurt and alone. He realized he didn't want anyone to feel as shitty as he did and decided to shut up and let the bastard stay awhile. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

 

"Just--Just sit. And don't be annoying."

 

* * *

 

 

As it turned out, the archangel stayed surprisingly stationary for the remainder of his stay. He would entertain himself with whatever he could pull out of thin air, but the less he walked around and got in Dean's way, the better. The warm presence of another being in the bunker was enough for the awful thoughts and dreams to dwindle to be more manageable. Gabe didn't need to sleep, which was super creepy. Dean could hear him walking around night after night, like he was making up for the ghosts that weren't there. He could sleep if he wanted too, but he was a busy-body, and damn anything that was going to keep him from living. Dean lost it one night.

 

"GO. TO. SLEEP. I DON'T CARE THAT YOU DON'T NEED TO!" The footsteps ceased after that.

 

That is until the archangel got the bright idea to sit and watch the elder Winchester sleep instead of pacing the halls. In the dark. In a room with a door that Dean had always locked as a precaution against anything and anyone that could be stopped by six inches of steel. Which was definitely not Gabriel.

 

It wasn't soft huffs of breath that awoke Dean, because angels don't need to breathe, yet another uncomfortable feature. It was the prickly feeling that something was there, but was not unwelcome. Like that feeling when someone's fingers are inches away from the back of your neck, and you know they're there, but you can't feel them yet. Dean slowly sat up, reaching under his pillow for his gun, touching the cold metal, and that was the exact moment when two eyes flashed gold in the dark, and Dean lost all sense of rational thought. Just _bang, bang,_ two equally startling flashes of orange.

 

" _Ooooowwww. That hurt._ " A familiar voice complained from the corner. Dean groaned and flicked on the light, revealing a disgruntled Gabe with two bullets straight through his stomach, which were quickly healing. Dean knew it didn't hurt and that he was just putting on a show.

 

"And  _you're_ pissed at _me_ for freakin' out? What the hell were you doing?"

 

"I don't like being alone." The angel whined.

 

"Well could'ja maybe consider how friggin' unnatural it is to sit and watch someone while they sleep? What is it with you guys? I mean, come on man."

 

After that, Dean set the angel up with a bed on the opposite side of the same room. Anything to keep himself sane.

 

* * *

 

Some days were good. Some were bad. Some were a dangerous cocktail of the two. The one constant was the archangel and his uncanny way of knowing when Dean wanted to be left alone. If Dean gave off a negative vibe, it traveled all the way down Gabe's spine. Sometimes, when he didn't know what to expect from the hunter, he would leave a pie sitting on the table. He didn't need any thanks. It was a symbiotic relationship, with a little take and a little give by both sides.

 

"Hey, why isn't your idiot of a brother here?"

 

"Hell, if I knew where he was, I'd have beaten his lights out for not coming to see you."

 

If Dean was startled awake by a nightmare, Gabriel would be at his side, soothing Dean with a touch on the forehead that made him forget. Gabe wished he could wipe out most of his memories.

 

"Gabe--when will it be okay? When will _I_ be okay?" Dean spoke to the coffee in front of him more than the archangel.

 

Gabriel walked over to Dean and laid a hand gently on the side of his neck, thumb brushing at the hair on the base. It was an ancient, wise touch and made Dean marvel at how so much was contained in such a tiny vessel. Humans seemed like such a pathetic vessel choice for beings like angels.

 

"I'm not going to define okay for you, if that's what you want. You'll decide when you feel _okay,_ kiddo." Dean seemed halfway satisfied with that answer, and leaned into the hand.

 

"Look at us. Remember when you told me you could see straight through my façade? Here we are, just two guys, hanging onto each other like there's nothing left." Dean managed a small smile. God that felt good.

 

Gabriel started to hum some strange, haunting tune that rolled around in his throat and broke on the roof of his mouth. Whenever he had opened his mouth, Dean hadn't noticed, but he now heard the angel signing, a sweet sound that resonated like those bells you ring to make a song. Nothing could possibly sound more otherworldly and humbling at the same time than the Enochian that came from deep inside the archangel. It slowly rose in a grand crescendo, then plateaued, holding. A thousand choruses couldn't compare. There seemed to be uncounted voices in unison, but Dean knew it was only one. It was just like he had imagined it would sound like. _Hark, the Herald Angels Sing,_ Dean thought, _and here stands a herald angel himself, the messenger of God._ It was beautiful and unfit for such a setting. He didn't deserve to hear the striking, bright notes that floated up into the ceiling and seemed to go on forever.

 

When Dean looked up, there were tears staining the angel's face, and he wanted to wipe them away. Angels shouldn't have to cry. Until he realized that the angel was smiling around the notes forming. Gabriel felt like a part of him that had laid dormant for far too long had suddenly come to life. He was reminded of his home in Heaven, and how much he missed it, no matter how much his family fought. He hadn't sung in so long and it felt like coming home. There was so much light, so much, and it just filled him up and he let it spill into the space around him. He remembered the creation of the angels, of his brothers and sisters, the birth of beautiful new things, and sang even louder. He thought he might just burst with joy.

 

Gabriel looked down and saw that Dean had covered his ears, but was laughing, in awe at the heavenly noise cascading from the angel, eyes squinted against the light of his true form that radiated forth. Dad always said he was one of the best vocalists in the choir. He could outshine the sun. By now, the inside of the bunker was awash with golden light, purer than anything on the earthly plane. All Dean could feel was happiness. So the angel sang his heart out while the hunter never wanted it to end.

  

**Author's Note:**

> This is the link to the cover of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" by Celtic Woman that kinda inspired the scene where Gabriel sings. Imagine the sound of this 1000 fold. There ya go.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mtu1-YjlW5c


End file.
